Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Am I? This is a huge leap. “Mabel, we barely know each other as friends, even less as business partners. We might screw this whole thing up. Then what?”
“We clean it up and move on. Like we did with the cake in my hair and with your cat scratch. You tend to the problem and move on.”
Like we’ve moved past that white-hot kiss. “This is more complicated than a scratch or a smash cake, but point taken. What happens to our friendship, though, if this business doesn’t work out?”
Things didn’t work out with Eliza, and though our breakup was cordial, we’re not in touch. We don’t really need to be. Moving on was easy since our lives weren’t entangled. What would a business breakup with Mabel do to this tentative friendship we have going on? Would it turn it to ash?
“We act like adults,” she says, giving a simple and real answer. “We handle it like grown-ups. And we give ourselves a time limit.”
My ears perk up. I do great with deadlines. I eat them for breakfast. “What are you thinking?”
“I gave myself a year to make a success of this or I’ll go corporate.”
I can hear the clear desperation in her tone. I hate that she’d have to give up her dream.
She steps closer; she’s a foot away now. “And to answer your original question as to why I want to go into business with you? It’s not just the money, though I’m not going to downplay that. I need the money, clearly. But you actually like the same things I do. You like cake. You like frosting. You’ve always enjoyed my treats.”
That sounds vaguely dirty, but I resist the opportunity for innuendo, letting her talk.
“And look,” she continues, “I have a lot of experience making and selling baked goods. I’ve studied the bakery business too. I can tell you the best bakeries in any city. Plus, I take amazing pictures of what I make. My grandmother taught me some of the basics of photography, but I taught myself food photography. I know what’s pretty, what looks good, and what looks mouth-watering in a photo. I can hustle like nobody’s business. I can market my ass off on social media.”
“I can’t do any of that stuff. Nor do I want to,” I admit.
That seems to drive her on, the simpatico-ness of this all. “Like Theo said, this is something you want to do. I can help you learn what it takes, for when you want to run your own bakery someday. And I can keep growing my brand and then hopefully open a bakery in the city.” She takes a beat, then offers a hopeful smile. “I think we’d make a good team.”
She’s a vibes person. But she’s also a methodical baker and a persistent human. I listen to my gut, and I’m also a big-picture guy, plus I’m organized to a T.
I can’t believe I’m seriously weighing this wild, crazy, outrageous idea of going into business with her.
I have plans. I have a timeline. I’ve even devised names for my one-day bakery. But I’m also shit at designing the way bakeries have to look these days. And I know, I fucking know, how important the whole pink, pretty décor thing is to these kinds of businesses.
But that’s just not something a color-blind guy can pull off without a lot of help.
My mind keeps spinning as I think of how Mom never pulled the trigger when she could. How she regretted that. How she wished she’d taken the chance. My chest tightens at the memory of her hands, of the tremors, of the way she couldn’t work a mixer in the end. I turn away from Mabel, taking in this space one more time, the way it’ll look with natural light streaming in through the garage windows, the kitschiness of the polished fire pole, the roominess of it all. I try to see it through my mom’s eyes.
She would have loved this place.
There’s just one little issue. Or, maybe one big issue.
Here goes nothing.
I turn to Mabel. “I have one condition.”
9
MACHO BAKE-OFF
MABEL
This is nuts.
I didn’t even ask for a bake-off. But Corbin did, in a way.
That’s why I’m awake earlier than I want to be the next morning, twisting my hair into a messy bun, swiping on some powder and blush before leaving the bathroom and my makeup bag behind.
Then, fuck it.
Before I’m two steps out, I spin around, grab my mascara, and brush it on.
I like makeup. So sue me.
A little lipstick next, then I check the clock on my phone, and right when he said he’d be here, the buzzer sounds.
I ask who’s there to be safe.
“The guy who’s going to prove he’s a ten out of ten.”
“It is on.”
I press the button to let Corbin in. Soon, the stairs creak as he bounds up them. I swing open the door to my tiny place, and my eyes pop when I take him in. Corbin’s holding a huge red grocery bag that smells obscenely delicious, and he’s wearing an apron with the words: ALL THIS AND I CAN BAKE.